Drabble: Theatre
by williz
Summary: Willabeth AWE drabble challenge. The word is theatre. This might just be my best work, so read it and review.


**Drabble: Theatre**

**Author: williz**

**Summary: **Theatre is the word. Willabeth drabbles. Late, I know. Get over it. Sheesh.

**Disclaimer: **A new one of these every damn time. W/E doesn't belong to me. I've dealt with it….now why don't you try…..freakin' cheeky. How about DISNEY starts trying to deal with me being a freaking GENIUS!!!! HUH?!?!? THEY NEED TO DEAL WITH THAT!!! CAN YOU DEAL WITH THAT?!

K, I'm done.

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It was dark and dreary in the cold theater, the cold air from outside finding some passageway of entry, creating a small whistling noise as it filtered into the large, grand building.

Her eyes were wide as she walked through the darkness, looking at the statues and figures on the sides of the balconies. These balconies had been used for the rich citizens of London who received private boxes in which to watch the theatre productions.

She reached the wooden steps leading from the audience to the wooden stage, hearing each step creak loudly as she set her foot on it. Dust caked the bottom of her heels as she stepped, cobwebs catching on her light jacket.

Moving into the middle of the stage, she stood, gazing at the chandelier hanging above the audience. Its beautiful splendor took her breath away as she turned her chin up, her eyes soft and mesmerized.

Her hands moved of their own volition and peeled the jacket from her shoulders, tossing it behind her.

She imagined the soft tones of an old-fashioned band wafting into her ears, the low tone of the piano lifting her feet and moving them, causing her to begin swaying softly. The spotlight moved, the dust and cobwebs on it disappearing in a golden moment of grandeur, transporting her back to the beginning of the twentieth century, when this theater was first built.

Shutting her eyes in ecstasy, she began moving her arms, turning and stretching them above her had, throwing her head back as she felt the warmth of the spotlight, the soft chords of the piano, the trumpet player playing the song just for her, the audience mesmerized, transfixed.

The romance of the moment was not lost on the curtains, which lost the dust that caked them, were mended of the holes moths ate in them, the bottoms dragging on the ground repaired and just as mahogany as they were opening night. They swayed with the music along with the graceful beauty dancing center stage.

Her hand moved up and removed the hairpin from her hair, letting her long, wavy curls drop to her shoulders and move beautifully along with her.

The stage was clean of the nails and grime. It was beautiful wood, a dark oak wood which made no sound whatsoever when she moved on it.

As the tones of the band died down to a slow, romantic sound, she felt two rough hands take her own smooth, petite ones from behind. The touch was soft, loving, and altogether comforting.

A strong body was pressed to her back as the newcomer moved along with her, tucking their face into her neck and pushing her arms so that his wrapped about her body over hers.

The imaginary song died a few minutes later. The curtains were dusty and old again, the spotlight in the light booth was dusty with cobwebs covering it, the broken lens back in place of the new, shining one. The stage creaked, the seats in the audience empty and broken.

But the romance continued.

She turned in the man's arms and smiled, opening her eyes. "How did you get into my father's theater?"

The question was not meant to be answered, and answer he did not. He only leant forward and kissed her softly. "You're spellbinding."

"I love you."

In another time, a thunderous applause was heard as the beautiful young woman on stage bowed low, her long curls dropping over her shoulders. Roses landed beside her feet as she straightened again, feeling the tears behind her lashes.

This theatre was the beginning of her career, and she would always remember it this way, the seats full, the lights bright, the mahogany curtains swaying, the oak wood floors clean and smooth, the band grinning up at her passed their brass instruments…

…this was home.

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(A/N): The end.


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